


A Visitor In the Night

by SometimesIWriteBunnySmutOkay



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: #sylvanasdeservedbetter, Angst, F/M, Hurt without the comfort, I honestly cried during that cinematic, I'm not ready for it, I'm very much not happy with what they did to her in the recent update, Look how they've massacred my Queen, Sylvanas is real angry, Takes place somewhere in BfA, They're going to kill her off next expansion, This is a vent fic alright?, Where the FUCK was Nathanos, also, hopefully this makes someone feel better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 03:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20771879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SometimesIWriteBunnySmutOkay/pseuds/SometimesIWriteBunnySmutOkay
Summary: The sea is quiet at night, but Nathanos' mind is not.So much has happened, and it feels as though more is on the horizon. And when Sylvanas appears in his doorway at the dead of night, somehow things only get worse.(Someone help, the new update killed my soul and I'm not okay)





	A Visitor In the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I'm really upset over what just happened. Like, that cinematic killed me and I'll be honest, I don't even know if I can play WoW right now? I feel like they just ripped my heart out and stomped on it. 
> 
> I've honestly been venting to everyone who will listen about what they've done to Sylvanas and this story is kind of just a manifestation of all those negative feelings. Excuse any issues with the lore, I'm not 100% there right now. Everything hurts too much.
> 
> Enjoy, I guess

The slow, rhythmic sloshing of the waves against the hull of the Banshee’s Wail was a distant, almost soothing sound in the Forsaken man’s ears. So monotone were the beats that they almost faded out against the buzzing of his own head.

_ Thump. Thump. Thump. _

Staring down at the map of Tiragarde Sound he had spread out before him, Nathanos Blightcaller sighed and closed his eyes. The day had stretched on for far too long already, and yet here he was, squinting at the same damn piece of paper in the flickering candlelight, as if that would change anything. All he was doing was making the pressure in his skull worse, he should call it a night and leave well enough alone.

Strategizing could come tomorrow. _ Maybe by then, something will have changed. _

Not likely. The things he wanted to change were the pieces of his situation that seemed most despondent. Nathanos could win a battle, he might have even been able to win a war, but he couldn’t win a fight with himself. 

Lifting a lethargic hand to his face, the man tiredly rubbed at the bridge of his nose only for his fingers to stumble into the scar that ran across his face. Gingerly running his thumb down its length, Nathanos felt a wave of an indiscernible emotion crash over him, weighing him down. There were better things he could be doing than _ remembering. _ Still he sat there in silent contemplation, unable to quite yank himself from the brooding mire his mind had become.

There had been too much recently, too many problems that didn’t have an easy answer. Hell, half of them didn’t have answers at all, but then, you couldn’t just _ solve _ people. They were confusing and contradictory when they wanted to be while acting downright predictable when it suited them.

The inevitability of it all was crushing, like someone had tied a millstone around his neck and sent him to the bottom of the sea. Pulling his hand away from his face with a grunt, Nathanos shoved his fingers frustratedly through his hair, mussing it and sending it tumbling into his eyes. The map below him wavered in the light from the candle and for a moment he was tempted to shove it away entirely, but a second later he reigned himself in.

Anger was only useful when it was channeled and used for a purpose, and this? Nathanos would have been charitable had he referred to his current emotion as unfettered and unfocused. The only thing it was good for was clouding his mind.

Deflating in a very deliberate manner, the undead turned and stared out one of the small, dingy glass windows in the side of the ship. Everything outside was dark, and the only sounds he could make out were the waves, the creaking of the wood, and the distant screeches of the pterrordax that littered the island. It was hardly the most calming of places to be, he'd been offered a very lavish room in the temple to stay in, but he hated the hollow, echoing halls of Dazar’alor, and at least he knew this ship, knew everything it held and all the crew that had manned it when they’d first set sail. It was as close to _ comfort _ as he was going to get.

But he remained uncomforted. The only thing that seemed to lie here for him was the feeling of utter uselessness and defeat. Though he knew it was inaccurate, this ship might as well have been his prison. That would at least explain why being sent here had felt very much like banishment.

From the corner of his quarters, his single Blighthound lifted a tired muzzle into the air, snuffled a few times, then whined loudly, breaking the stillness of the night. Turning to the creature, Nathanos tilted his head, miffed as to what had awoken it. As his pet’s gaze sharpened into a stare that was focused behind him, however, the man narrowed his crimson eyes and felt a telltale chill run down the length of his spine.

Swiftly, the Forsaken man shot to his feet, the chair he’d been sitting in skittering across the wooden floor beneath him. He paid it no mind though. Nathanos already had a hatchet in one hand and a dagger in the other before it had the chance to settle. As the wax from his candle lurched and splattered over his map, the man finally focused on the figure in the doorway. 

Instantly, the fight left his body.

“Sylvanas,” he blurted out, her name leaving him due to surprise more than anything else. Realizing how it looked to be brandishing weapons at the leader of his people, Nathanos swiftly dropped the hatchet to the floor and stowed the dagger away before stooping down into a respectful bow. “My Queen,” he amended, attempting to regain some manner of decorum.

“Stop it,” Sylvanas muttered, her voice low. “I did not ask for formality.” Her tone spoke of bone-deep exhaustion that mirrored his own, and it took some of the starch out of his spine.

Straightening slowly, Nathanos looked up at the woman, attempting to keep confusion from furrowing his brow. Maybe it was tiredness, but her presence left him feeling like the world had momentarily tilted the wrong way. She wasn’t supposed to be here, she’d made it clear the last time he’d seen her that there were other matters she had to attend to and those things didn’t include spending undue time in Zandalar. His Queen should be in Orgrimmar, where her people needed her most.

Yet here she was, standing in his doorway with a cloak pulled over her head and around her shoulders like she was a wandering phantom of the night.

Perhaps she was. Perhaps he’d finally succumbed to mental fatigue and now was dreaming of the one person he wanted to see, and the last person he knew what to say to.

_What a cruel hallucination that would be. _

Carmine eyes traveled around the room before Sylvanas’ gaze drifted to Nathanos. It was here it stayed, locked there by any number of things neither of them could put into words. These days it was always like this, every time he spoke to her he felt like the weight of the past was cascading over him, pushing down all the things he desperately needed to say. He knew that if he were to voice this, Sylvanas would dismiss it as mere sentimentality, but in the private space of his own mind, Nathanos wondered if it was something more.

Finally, his Queen spoke again, disrupting the quiet. “May I come in?” Could one ever describe Sylvanas as uncertain with any real ounce of honesty? The undead man could only assume he had misread her tone.

“Of course.” Leaping into action, Nathanos busied himself with righting the mild disarray he’d sent the room into after his violent reaction to her arrival. Swiftly retrieving his hatchet, the man grabbed for the chair that had fallen to the floor and put it back on its feet. His reflexes had betrayed him for once, and even though he was want to blame it on the late hour, he knew that was hardly accurate. The Forsaken didn't sleep, and even this mental torpidity couldn't dull his senses that completely. _ Usually I can tell when it’s her. _

If only that didn’t bring up more questions than it attempted to answer.

Holstering the hatchet, Nathanos pulled out the extra chair at the table for Sylvanas, the action habit more than anything. Still, this seemed to jolt her into moving. Pulling the hood back from her face, revealing tumbling, brittle blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders, Sylvanas gradually made her way into the room. The blighthound that had awoken at her presence shifted to its feet and padded over to her, its nails clicking against the wood. 

Sylvanas’ only reaction was to stare at it unseeingly as it wove in front of her before settling beside the table with a huff of breath.

Absently scraping some of the spilled candle wax off of his map, Nathanos gruffly muttered, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“No,” Sylvanas hummed, pulling the cloak from around her shoulders and draping it over the wooden back of the spare chair.

For someone who had come to see him, Nathanos was almost surprised by just how little his Queen seemed to have to say. Still, he brushed it aside. Her being here was enough to send his mind into turmoil, after all. She hardly _ needed _ to say a thing.

Glancing in the vague direction of the temple, Nathanos ran a hand through his hair before saying, “It’s a long walk to the docks at this time of night.” Flailing for a moment as he tried to figure out where he was supposed to take that, the man continued, “I… hope you did not actually make that trip.”

Waving a hand, one devoid of its usual coating of armor plating, Sylvanas dismissively responded, “It was calm. Much calmer than any such walk in Orgrimmar.” Her eyes narrowed. “The war drums never cease there, and the Alliance threatens to push ever closer...” She trailed off and Nathanos could almost hear the conflict in her voice. But the moment was over quickly and woman jerked back into motion. Pulling a simple satchel from her shoulder and slinging it over the chair as well, the Queen finally took a seat at the table with her Champion, only to stare impassively out of one of the dirty glass windows.

Knowing that look all too well, Nathanos chose to push the conversation rather than let it die before it had begun. “Dark Lady, why-”

“Things are going well in our assault on Kul-tiras, yes?” Sylvanas interrupted, turning to the map abruptly and squinting at the various markings he’d littered it with. “I have heard very little from our forward outposts and it gets a tad concerning, considering I am trying to win a war.”

Deflating, genuinely this time, Nathanos momentarily set aside his previous question so he could respond with, “Everything is going to plan. I have the champions you sent me at every front pushing the assault. It’s a lengthy process to be sure, but at this juncture, I would wager a successful one.”

“Good,” Sylvanas stated. Letting a hand fall to the table, the Banshee traced the hills of Tiragarde Sound with a finger, her brows furrowed in thought. “Will these assaults hold without you around?”

The words sent a perhaps premature bolt of hope through the Forsaken man. “Of course they will. These are your men we speak of. They know what they’re doing.” Though selfish, the only thought running through Nathanos’ mind was _ will she permit me to stay by her side now? Or is she going to send me away again? _ It was a stupid thing to think, but his thoughts didn’t always respond to his will.

Humming low in her throat, Sylvanas let her hand trail away off of the map before resting comfortably on the edge of the table. Shifting her chair so she was facing Nathanos, the woman looked him up and down, her shoulders heavy with the weight of responsibility that crushed her. Usually she bore the mantle of Warchief without batting an eye, but tonight, the undead could see it wearing at her, picking away at her edges.

It gave her the look of someone who carried the world on their back.

And here her champion sat, unable to take even an iota of that weight away. The realization left him feeling more useless than ever.

Stirring at long last, the woman reached for the satchel and pulled from it a bottle and two glasses. Eyeing Nathanos from the corner of her eye, Sylvanas lifted an eyebrow in question and the Ranger gave her a slight nod. The tradition of drinking with his Queen wasn’t precisely one he often indulged in, after all. These were motions of a bygone era, when they were both alive. When there had been time to kill and pleasant ways to spend it.

Now, there was only war. 

At some point, it began to wear on a mind.

“Thalryssra’s people have many vinyards,” Sylvanas said by way of explanation, as if Nathanos would have questioned her. “Though I have no taste for the mana they lace it with, they’re still fine drinks.”

“Our new friends are interesting,” Nathanos said, his eyes following Sylvanas’ hands as they delicately uncorked the bottle and poured some of the transparent amethyst liquid into each glass.

“They certainly have proven their worth,” Sylvanas acknowledged. Picking up her own cup, the Banshee’s lids lowered slightly as she took a sip and leaned back in her chair as much as it would allow. Nathanos couldn’t help but watch, almost transfixed by the effortless class that oozed from her. 

She was always a Queen, no matter the setting.

“Are you going to drink, Nathanos?” Sylvanas asked, her eyes never leaving her own glass. “Or did I waste this trip?”

The Forsaken man couldn’t help but snort. “You didn’t come all this way to drink with me.” Still, he reached for the unattended cup and pulled it to him. 

“Always assuming the worst,” Sylvanas purred, a smirk creeping over her lips. Gaze darting to the side, catching Nathanos’ eyes in a vice like grip, the woman turned her body to face him before asking, “But would I have you any other way?”

Unsure if she expected an answer or not, Nathanos erred on the side of caution and elected to take a silent sip from his drink. The arcwine was sweeter than he was used to, and his more human taste buds delighted in the flavor. Drinking it was of course pointless. His body wasn’t living enough to be affected by anything except the strongest strains of whatever near-poison the denizens of Undercity could concoct, but it was strangely pleasant, and the old habits he’d had when he was alive meant the action was soothing.

Sylvanas would have chastised him. A good thing she didn’t always live in his head.

“Not having you at my side is strange,” the woman commented, startling Nathanos out of his revere. The admission was so plain, it left the Forsaken man taken aback, and all he could do was blink a few times in response. Meanwhile, Sylvanas swirled the drink in her glass and stared at the scrapings of wax that sprinkled the table. “Sending you here was necessary, but…” She shook her head. “It has been a long month.”

This was something he knew he could agree with. “Yes, it has.” The candlelight flickered and danced, sending their shadows wavering over the walls. It distracted him for a moment, and Nathanos lost himself in thought. In those seconds, all he really needed was the knowledge that Sylvanas had noted his absence.

Her presence here, now, and the hesitation she had shown in leaving when last they’d spoken began to make a little more sense to him.

“It will be over soon,” Sylvanas muttered under her breath, a grim note creeping into her voice. “One way or another.”

“I don’t think the Alliance will let us rest for long,” Nathanos agreed, even though he knew his Queen’s words spoke of something much darker. It was as if she’d seen something the rest of her people weren’t privy to and it was driving her forward, putting an almost manic fire in her bones.

That fire, however, seemed to have died for the time being. All that was left were smoldering ashes burning behind her dulled gaze. 

“What do you make of our new Troll allies,” Sylvanas said at last, clearly trying to direct the conversation in some way, even if it had been derailed long ago.

“They’re hardly allies yet,” Nathanos snorted, furrowing his brows. 

“I assumed as much,” the woman murmured, her upper lip wrinkling in distaste, as though she’d tasted something foul in her drink. “Talanji seemed… strong willed by every account.”

Letting some of his own frustration spill out into his words, the undead said, “It’s not her, it’s her father. Their king can’t make up his mind as to whether he wants to help or not. I think he sees the Horde as nothing more than children playing at war.”

That soured the air, he could feel the change at once as Sylvanas’ brows furrowed in aggravation. “Aren’t they?” Surprised, Nathanos focused on her.

Attempting to sooth the kindling anger in her eyes, Nathanos began, “I really don’t think-”

“All they think about is their damned honor, as if the dead _ care.” _ Bitterly taking another gulp of her drink, Sylvanas tightened the fingers that clenched her glass. “The Horde is full of children, Nathanos, and I have been set to rule them. But how can I if they throw tantrums at every turn?”

As a hot, uncomfortable prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck, the undead argued, “Your people have bled and died for you since you set them free, calling them children is a bit unjust.”

“Do not speak to me of justice, Blightcaller,” Sylvanas hissed, her voice echoing in the confined space. “My _ people _ have abandoned me as quickly as the rest of the Horde. One might even say they left the quickest of all.” He hadn’t expected her to let so much slip, not at a time like this when everyone was on edge and one wrong word could destroy everything. Maybe that’s why she was coming to him, because of everyone, he would never breathe a word to anyone else. 

It didn’t make the sentiment feel any less alarming. 

So he argued, her statements stirring something within him as well. “Your people never abandoned you, Sylvanas,” he bit back, his crimson eyes boring into hers. “They turned to you in Arathi and you-”

“Dealt with them as I would deal with any traitor,” Sylvanas spat, a hint of her Banshee voice creeping into her tone. Even that much was enough to leave Nathanos’ back stiff and his body tense. “Of course they ran back when they knew they would lose. They never should have wavered at all.”

“You were supposed to give them a choice,” he growled, the resentment and anger he still had from that day boiling up to the surface all to fast. “You have _ always _ given us a choice, whether to follow you or go our own way as Forsaken. Never once in my years of standing beside you have I seen you force one of your people to follow you when they wanted something different.” Clenching his free hand tightly beneath the table, Nathanos finished, “Until now.”

“I gave them a choice!” Sylvanas’ voice rang painfully in Nathanos’ ears, the sheer otherworldly power it contained too much to bear. “They chose the council and the Alliance.” Smacking her empty glass against the table, the Banshee furiously continued, “And they aren’t the only ones.”

Instinctively, Nathanos’ hackles rose. “I would never-”

“No, not you,” Sylvanas muttered, almost exasperatedly. “Saurfang would rather sit in an Alliance prison than be given another chance. Do you know how that looks to those dogs in Stormwind?” Face twisting, the Queen spat, “The boy king sits on his throne and _ sneers _ at me as my own people defect to him and my leaders abandon me. And I can do nothing to stop it.”

“You left Saurfang to them,” Nathanos reminded her, his eyes dropping to the table below.

“He only left because seeing one of us as Warchief is an affront to him,” Sylvanas said bitterly. “And now he sits rotting in that cell until he decides that his honor won’t stop him from siding with the Alliance.”

That thought left a sour taste in Nathanos’ mouth, one he tried to wash away with the last sip of his drink. It did nothing to dull it. Frustratedly snapping the glass down against the table, the Forsaken man muttered, “Something needs to be done about him.”

Sylvanas let out a short, hollow laugh. “You know better than I of the assassins I’ve sent. They have yet to succeed.”

That wasn’t what he’d meant, but her words only left the undead with more bile rising in his throat. When had his Queen become like this? When had they lost the strong, unwavering ruler who would give her life and undeath to defend her people and their right to exist in Azeroth?

Something had changed, and the realization wrenched at his gut.

Shaking her head, her hair falling around her face, obscuring her eyes, Sylvanas softly said, “And now Baine fights me as well. The Orcs want nothing to do with me, the Tauren find me repulsive. How can I win a war when those I fight with want no part of it? What do they want me to do? Turn myself over to mercy of that boy in Stormwind?”

“The Horde fights beside you, Sylvanas,” Nathanos stated, his jaw clenching. “They have since Vol’jin gave you this mantle. Just because their leaders-”

“How can I _ trust _ them if even their leaders betray me!” Sylvanas snapped, silencing him. “You say they fight beside me? Am I supposed to be impressed by these _ children? _”

“They are not children!” Nathanos growled, feeling very much like he was talking to a stone wall. “They are a formidable and proud alliance of people who would fight and die for what they believe is right. Right now, they fight for you Sylvanas, they fight to see you rise victorious and they trust you to lead them to glory!”

“The _ Horde _ is _ nothing.” _

Nathanos’ eyes widened and a cold lump of what could only be dread settled in the pit of his stomach.

Turning her head sharply so she could stare at him, Sylvanas narrowed bleary red eyes as though daring him to question her. “When have they ever done anything for me? For the Forsaken? They have shunned us and treated me like the scum on the bottom of their boots since they day I allied myself with them. I turned to them when the Alliance rejected me, and they might as well have rejected me too.” 

Hands clenching into visible fists, the woman continued, “I have fought and clawed my way up until they treated me with some small amount of respect. When Vol’jin named me Warchief he openly stated how he had never trusted me. I am scorned by all and the Forsaken are considered a nuisance at best. And now I lead these people who think I am worthless. Tell me Nathanos, _ what has the Horde done for me?” _

“They took us in,” Nathanos responded plainly, looking away when Sylvanas’ gaze burned him. “They fought for us when the Alliance tried to drive us from our own lands, and they defended Lordaeron until the end. How can you say they’re nothing?”

“Very easily,” Sylvanas muttered, turning away from him.

For a moment, the two of them sat there in utter silence. In the empty space the drone of the sea filled the air between them, gently moving beneath their feet. Perhaps at one time it had been lulling, but Nathanos could only hear Sylvanas’ words echoing in his head again and again. She had denounced the Horde, and Nathanos suspected that the Forsaken were not far behind. Sylvanas hadn’t even tried to hide her contempt, and that hurt in a way he couldn’t explain. 

This was hardly the Queen he remembered. No, she had become someone else.

Yet he still lifted a hand quietly and placed it beside Sylvanas’ own. Since the beginning, he had followed her. Before the Forsaken, before the Horde, she had been his leader and his world. He remembered the days when she’d been a force of nature itself, a powerful Ranger general and an undeniable Queen. When she had freed him from the Litch King she had given him a choice to follow her again.

And he didn’t regret the choice he’d made. Even now as she crumbled before his eyes, misery and bitter hatred filling the air around them, Nathanos knew he would stand by her until the very end. Whether that be against the Alliance, the Horde, or the world itself. Somehow, despite the roiling emotions that bubbled endlessly in his stomach, this resolve calmed him. 

No matter the cost, he would follow his Queen.

_ To the ends of time. _

Looking up at the face of Sylvanas, Nathanos found her already watching him, her carmine eyes full of the emotions that had spilled out from her lips There were almost too many to count, and each fulled the fiery rage that still burned within her. This time however, he didn’t look away. Instead he simply met her gaze with the calm, clear certainty he had drawn from his convictions. 

She might have given up on the Horde, but he wouldn’t give up on her.

Tentatively, almost, Sylvanas lifted her hand and placed it atop his own. Her skin was as cold now as it had been warm in life.

“Come with me to Darkshore,” Sylvanas said softly, the fight almost entirely gone from her tone. “I have business to attend to there, and I would rather have you by my side than here.”

“Of course,” Nathanos agreed, hardly thinking at all.

“You can return here later,” Sylvanas continued, her eyes drifting down to their hands. “Gaining more allies is still… important. But it can wait.” After everything she had said, the words rang slightly hollow, but he ignored that for the time being. They would cross this bridge if they came to it again.

Perhaps, there was still hope.

“As you wish, my Queen,” the Forsaken man intoned.

“But what do you wish, Nathanos?” Sylvanas asked, unexpectedly.

Twisting his hand so he could grip his Queen’s fingers in his own, Nathanos responded, “I wish to stay by your side, until the end.” Attempting to inject as much force into his words as he could, the man continued, “Whatever the Horde does, Sylvanas, I will never leave you.”

Eyes closing, Sylvanas bowed her head. “I know.”

In the silence of the night, with her there before him, those two words said all that was needed. And for Nathanos, they meant everything.

Perhaps it was too late now to change his Queen’s mind, perhaps the end had been hurtling towards them for too long to stop it, but he clung to this moment. The future would happen, all he could do was keep his back straight and be ready when it arrived.

Right now? This was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Oof. I'm just gonna go cry in a corner somewhere for a while.


End file.
